Such Tears
by thats-a-moray
Summary: Scar experiences inner conflict after killing Mufasa. A revised version of an old short story.


**AN: This is a re-write of a one-shot I wrote in 2006. It now ties in with my chapter story, Heart of the Shadowlands. Check it out if you like what you see here! And please leave a review!**

Such exquisite tears welled in Simba's eyes. As he gaped at me, his weak chest feebly pressed against my foreleg, I could feel his tiny heart break. I resisted the urge to grin, but I am a good actor. Not even a wise old elephant would have believed I was anymore than a loving uncle comforting his favorite nephew after a tragic accident. Oh, I remembered the horror in my brother's eyes when… Sadly, I had to complete my speech before I could savor the moment. "And if it weren't for you he'd still be alive. Oh, what will your mother think!?"

Simba's eyes grew wider. He looked at me with so much fear, so much blind hope. He choked on a sob. "What am I gonna do?"

"Run away, Simba," I told him in a hushed voice, willing my eyes to burn into his. "Run away and never return."

The mouth of my wretched, wretched nephew hung open in delicious horror as I spoke these words. Now I felt a great welling of pride inside myself. How many times had I rehearsed these lines? Never perfect, never! A chill ran from my silky mane to the tip of my tail as I watched him flee into the winding canyon, his silhouette consumed by dust. He believed every word I said. Once he vanished from my sight I allowed myself a humble smile. Everything had gone absolutely, positively according to plan.

Well, except for one little thing. The brat was still alive. That would be amended shortly.

My loyal henchmen approached: Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed, their stinking mouths undoubtedly dripping with ambition. Without looking at them I knew what they desired. Mama Kishenzi's clan had survived too long on scraps and whatever measly morsels I could smuggle into the Elephant Graveyard. No more. Soon the same lionesses who slaughtered their kin would serve their meals and I would have my police force. They were gullible brutes, but loyal nonetheless. Now they would receive the first of their rewards. "Kill him."

They vanished under the veil of dust. Alone at last, I cast my eyes toward the sheer cliffs of the gorge. That cursed blue bird came close to ruining my plan once; if he spotted me down here I would need to kill him. Having been an avid bird hunter in my youth, I knew that capturing and killing him would be impossible once he took flight. I would not have much time.

I, Taka, turned towards the corpse of Mufasa. With my paw I turned his muzzle so that we faced one another. His cheek was cool. Such a pity he died with his eyes closed… and yet so appropriate. Truly, Mufasa died as he lived. Even in death he was arrogant. Ceased by cold rage, I gazed at Mufasa's cold, dead face and growled, "My name—is—_not_—Scar."

My claws flexed involuntarily, almost digging into his flesh. Was I a lion of less composure, I would have struck him across the face to repay a favor. Oh, by my grandfather's spirit, how I longed to ugly his handsome face.

I reminded myself that attacking him now would bring me no satisfaction. Indeed, a still heart could pump no blood to flow from fresh wounds; dead nerves could not send pain sizzling through his muzzle; his stone-like mind was beyond suffering or comprehending. Something strange stirred within me as I studied his blank expression. What was it? Regret that his pain had been so brief? Sorrow that Mufasa died without witnessing the death of his son? Why this confusion of emotions?

I scanned the sky one last time in search of Zazu. Perhaps he was still incapacitated after all. By now the dust was clearing, yet the sky was even empty of buzzards. They would be here soon enough. The thought of them picking at Mufasa's corpse left me strangely unsettled. I felt possessive of my brother's body. No, I couldn't afford to stay here any longer. Perhaps later I would send some of my friends to retrieve pieces of the body and place them in my throne room in the Elephant Graveyard. Yes, a trophy would do nicely. Slowly I began to feel pleased with myself again. I let Mufasa's head slip from my paw and pretended the sound of his cheek hitting the dirt was the smack he deserved.

Then I started walking up the gorge, giving myself time to go over the lines I had thought up for when I returned to Pride Rock, yet try as I might to forget him my thoughts kept returning to the body at the bottom of the gorge.

A month has passed since that day. Watching my mother grieve has been unpleasant to say the least. Pity the old bat didn't die before it came to this - I find it hard to face her these days, not because of guilt, however. Sarabi is slowly but surely warming to my affections. I've never felt any attraction to her other than the physical. The only reason I pursue her now is that I need her to placate those blasted lionesses. The fools plot rebellion even when they know they're outnumbered. In time I know she will bend to my will. Yet in comforting her in the wake of Mufasa's death, I find myself strangely... no, I won't admit it.

But then why can't I bear to hear his name?


End file.
